


You Move Me

by ninhursag



Series: Michael Guerin Week 2019 [4]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alien Biology, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Michael Guerin Week 2019, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 16:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: When the stars align correctly, aliens experience interesting side effects. And so do their chosen humans.For Michael Guerin week day four -- tropes.





	You Move Me

**Author's Note:**

> Less porny than it should be. I may come up with a next part at some point.
> 
> Thanks to Lambourn for encouraging me. :)

Alex doesn't know if Michael and his siblings know what's going to happen before it does. It's possible. They certainly have a hint of something.

Isobel gets antsy first, snapping at nothing much. Her makeup gets more perfect, the lines of her clothes severe. She wields a bag that costs more than most people's first car and her fingernails are a perfect red, no chips in her polish.

Then she's gone. 

He asks Michael about it, who he would think would worry, but Michael just shrugs and shakes his head. "She's safe," he says quietly. There's a long pause and Alex finds himself meeting honey warm eyes while Michael looks him over, considering. "It's not a good time for her."

Alex nods as if he understands. "Is it something with, with Noah? An anniversary?"

Michael's mouth twists and he gives a quick shake of his head. "Nah, not exactly. It's something in the stars." There's something tense in his voice under the quiet. "Sometimes things just line up a certain way and it fucks you up-- look don't worry about it. She'll get through this."

Alex makes himself look at Michael, really look him over. He's not like Isobel, nothing perfect in the shell he presents, just wearing a soft looking old t-shirt and jeans with holes worn white in the fabric. But there's something not quite right with the way he's holding himself, a little too controlled. He's carefully out of hands reach.

His hands are stuffed into his pockets. There's something… a scent to him, that's unfamiliar. And Alex knows his body, knows the angles and lines of it, knows the smell of his sweat and skin and cheap shampoo. But this is-- richer-- not strange but not quite-- coffee with spices, like something he'd smell wafting from a courtyard in Mosul.

Alex wants to get closer, suddenly, urgently, see if the scent is deeper in the hollow if Michael's neck, the sharp point of his elbow. That's far from an unfamiliar feeling.

"Is it-- are you ok, Guerin?" Alex finds himself asking.

The corners of Michael's mouth curve. "Fine, thanks for asking," he says, irony written into his smile. Alex could push it but he lets it go.

Liz is the one who tells him about Max. "He's acting strange," she says.

"Like, how?" Thinking of Isobel's increasing rigidity, like she was clutching control with both hands, and Michael's careful distance.

But Liz just smiles. "It's hard to describe. Just very… I don't know, attentive." She flushes a little and bites her lower lip. "Not in a bad way."

Alex laughs genuinely, "I don't need to know the details," he says, but it's a relief to see the pleasure on her face. Maybe whatever is going on isn't so bad.

And then the dreams begin.

There's that scent again, warm, homier in his dreams, like morning coffee, freshly brewed. Alex licks his lips as the warmth curls around him. He knows without thinking about it, that when he opens his eyes, Michael Guerin will be there, that the scent is his.

Alex opens his eyes.

He's alone in his narrow bed, sweaty and morning wood hard enough to make him whimper. He licks his palm and squeezes his eyes closed, fisting his cock and tugging, seeing Michael's eyes, lean, rangy body. He was gentle with himself, as if it really was Michael's hand on his dick, careful, callused and knowing.

He has the dream again the next night, this time for long enough for dream Michael to crowd him up against his truck, kneel down in the dirt and suck him off until he screams.

He wakes up panting and gasping, his stomach wet with semen. He hasn't come in his sleep since he was a teenager.

It happens again the same night, dream Michael on his hands and knees, legs parted, the curve of his ass, Alex's come seeping out of his swollen hole, like they'd gone bareback. 

He gives up on sleep and goes driving.

Maria catches him in the grocery section at Walmart. He tries to duck and cover, but she's on him like she's got a tracker and catches up to him in the cereal aisle.

Damned prosthetic keeps him from running.

"Alex," she says. "Hey."

"Have you seen Guerin?" He asks instead of fleeing, blurts really, embarrassingly.

Both of her perfectly plucked eyebrows go up. She looks perfect all over, smooth dark skin, unscarred body, unfucked brain. Gentle. No wonder Guerin likes her. He'd probably like her if he could like women. They'd been accused of it enough in middle school.

But she says, "no. I was hoping you had." She shakes her head and looks him right in the eye. Her skin is a few shades too dark to show a blush, but her expression telegraphs one anyway as she looks around to make sure no one else is looking for cereal at 1 AM. "So I think alien sex heats are actually a thing. Like that's happening now."

His fists clench and his eyes narrow. "Oh?" He manages to get out, smoother than he thought he could. "Got any personal experience with that, DeLuca?"

"No." Her lips tighten. "Like I said-- he was-- I was actually hoping he was with you. I'm worried about him."

"Oh?" Alex repeats, one eyebrow going up. Anger flares up, where he'd been too tired to really feel it before. "Why's that, you dump him and expect me to clean it up?" 

Answering anger flashes in her eyes. "No, that would have been you that did that. Don't act like a jilted husband, Manes, you aren't one."

He flinches when that connects. It quenches the anger that had been building. "I'm aware," he manages. "Why are you acting like a jilted wife? Aren't you with him?"

She sighs and looks down. "No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Alex. I'm sorry. And no, I'm not."

"Yeah. Well, you're right, you shouldn't have." He frowns. Alien pon farr or whatever might fuck up humans too, maybe that was why they were both acting like this. Wait, she'd just said… "Wait, you're not with him?"

There's a sadness to her smile then which he does understand, one hundred percent. "I never was." She laughs almost and takes a deep breath. "It's why you piss me off, acting like… he's yours, Alex, he's been yours, so go and get him."

Alex could write a book of counterpoints to that set of statements, things Maria didn't and couldn't know, decisions and dreams and pain so old it cracked him from the beginning. Michael Guerin wasn't any human's, certainly not his.

But Maria wasn't the person he needed to tell this shit to.

(He didn't think to clarify why Maria knew so much about the heat thing until much much later)

Alex should have no idea where to find Michael. He's not in his airstream or in his bunker or at Isobel's empty house. But Alex knows that, knows without having to check.

He knows to go right to the mines. And there he is.

Michael's kneeling in the middle of the cave, sweat soaked and dirty. His hands are fisted on his thighs and he's shaking. He snaps to attention immediately when Alex walks in, like a cat that noticed it's prey. Or a mouse noticing the cat. Spine straight, eyes narrow, pink tongue licking his own lips.

He still smells like… like that. Warm and strong.

"You shouldn't have come here. Alex," Michael whispers. He doesn't move. 

Alex shrugs and walks over slowly. "I've been lots of places I shouldn't be."

Michael's smile is a gift, quick, brilliant. "Yeah, I know."

Alex takes in a deep breath. It's hard to think now, dreams and reality blurring with sleeplessness and the way Michael's skin glows in the soft light.

"So," Alex begins. "Is this like Pon Farr where you literally die if you don't fuck?"

Michael manages a pained sounding laugh. "No, I just really, really want to. The astral alignment that we think causes it will be over in another day or so." 

Alex nods and takes a step closer. Michael shudders visibly.

"Why not come to me?" He whispers. "Or um. Maria."

Michael just gives him a long look. "You asked what happens if I don't fuck. Do you know what happens if I do?"

"What?" Alex asks. He's shaking now, almost within grasping range of Michael's hands. The coffee and spice scent, the slick sweat on his own skin, his unsteady gait.

"I'm not sure," Michael says frankly. "Because only one of us has tried it so far. But I have a really good idea it's for keeps."

"Ok. Good."

"Good?" Michael's tone is incredulous.

Alex smiles and lets himself drop to his knees in front of Michael. "Good," he says, firmly.

Michael reaches out then, with shaking hands. "I mean it," he says, like a plea. "This will be it for me."

Alex grabs his hands were they've fallen short and pulls him in. "Good," Alex manages again, the final word he has. 

When they touch skin, he loses everything but Michael, the honey glint of his eyes and the dream scent of his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at Tumblr @ninswhimsy and dw @ninhursag.
> 
> Feedback feeds me and is always appreciated!


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